Page 62 of The Play

“It’s either you or someone else,” Nicole said.

“God,” Grant said. Feeling vaguely nauseous again. “I didn’t even send this email.”

“But someone did who knew about your . . .uh . . .your feelings back then. I’m assuming that’s who sent the email to you.”

There’d only been a handful of people Grant had been friends with back then, and even fewer he’d confided in about his crush on Deacon.

“It was probably Dougie. Shit. It had to be Dougie.” He hadn’t even stopped to consider who the sender of the email could be, not until now. Proof that he wasn’t thinking clearly.

He’d never been panicked enough to cloud his mind, but he was definitely there, right now.

“Who’s Dougie?” Nicole asked.

“A friend I worked with in my graduate studies. He helped me a little with my project, that turned into the product I founded my company on. We pulled all-nighters in the programming lab, sometimes.”

On one of those nights, he’d been tired and a little lovesick about Deacon, and after too many espresso shots, he’d mentioned it to Dougie, who’d clearly remembered it, all those years later. Long enough to send him an email that had probably been shunted deep into one of his personal folders. He’d never even seen it, because his email assistant had probably been sure it was spam.

“Would he talk to Marlene?”

“I guess, maybe. If she could find him. I tried to hire him, a year or so after starting InTech, but . . .” Grant shrugged. “He’d gotten a better offer. I didn’t expect to ever hear from him again.”

“And yet he sent you that email.”

Nicole stopped in front of the door that took him to the private parking level—and the car waiting to take him and Darcy back to the airport. Speaking of Darcy, where was she?

“Yeah, he did,” Grant said. “I sure wish he hadn’t.”

“Oh it’s gonna be a mess for sure, but . . .” Nicole dropped her voice, and put a reassuring hand on Grant’s shoulder. “But maybe, something good can come out of it. Talk to Deacon. He deserves to hear this from you, and only you.”

“Hear what?” He looked over, and there was Darcy, looking a bit windblown and harried. Very unlike her normal put-together self. “Where did you go? You left so fast.”

“I . . uh . . .something came up,” Grant said.

“Well, tell me about it in the car,” Darcy said, pushing the door open.

“Sorry,” Grant said. “She interrupted you.”

“I was just saying,” Nicole said, “tell him, and whatever happens, we’ll deal with it.”

“You realize what you’re saying, right?” Grant asked slowly. If he told Deacon the whole truth, if Deacon knew how he really felt, he would keep fighting for him. He wouldn’t ever stop.

One kiss wouldn’t ever be enough.

The thought screamed through him in a dizzying rush.

One kiss wouldn’t ever be enough.

“I do,” Nicole said with a nod. “But I got you, boss. Now go tell Darcy, because I’m sure she’s going to want to know all the details.”

She would—though at least she already knew the truth of why Grant had bought the Condors.

“Thanks,” Grant said. “I’m sorry to—”

“No, don’t even apologize,” Nicole said firmly. “I got this. I got you.”

Darcy sat back in her chair on the plane and blinked once and then twice.

Picked up her spritz and took a long drink. Polished off half the drink that Benjamin had brought her only a few minutes ago.

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